


holding hands; holding hearts

by haikyubts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No Plot/Plotless, author has a hand kink but it doesn't show in the fic a lot, hand holding, maybe in some other fic, re-work of an original work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikyubts/pseuds/haikyubts
Summary: A study of Miya Atsumu's hands by Sakusa Kiyoomi.Or alternatively, me and Sakusa spouting poetry over Atsumu's hands with our undeniable, endless passion.Maybe if you squint enough there's a plot in there somewhere. Mostly an excuse of a fic as I daydreamed and cried over SakuAtsu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 138





	holding hands; holding hearts

**Author's Note:**

> For all the tender SakuAtsu enthusiasts and the ones with a hand kink (see: me).
> 
> Literally don't expect anything in this fic because nothing happens. Really. I have no idea what the whole thing is except for pretty descriptions and for soft SakuAtsufor my (our) weak hearts.
> 
> Enjoy.

Kiyoomi loves Atsumu’s hands. He doesn’t just love them. Kiyoomi  _ loves  _ Atsumu’s hands.

Atsumu’s hands are sort of pretty; beautiful even, that goes without saying. Not in the sense that Kiyoomi is praising them because they’re his boyfriend’s hands or that he praises Atsumu’s hands because there isn’t any part of Kiyoomi that doesn’t love any part of Atsumu.

No.

Kiyoomi has a special little corner -one which he will never reveal, not even to Atsumu- in his heart for his love for Atsumu’s hands, which were the first part of him Kiyoomi ever laid eyes on, watching the precise, confident movement of Atsumu’s hands as he set the ball for his brother, watching Atsumu’s match from the sidelines during the Inter-High of their first year. 

And sure, maybe Kiyoomi loves the softness and crinkles of Atsumu's eyes and his generous, easy-going (and irritating, before they got together) smiles and fell for them instead, but Atsumu's hands…

_ God,  _ his hands…

Kiyoomi loves the way Atsumu’s fingers are long and slim. Not slim enough to be bony, but enough to seem delicate yet strong and firm at the same time; a thing of mesmerizing paradoxes. The way they seem fragile when they gently hold Kiyoomi’s in them, wrapping the medical tape around Kiyoomi’s fingers oh-so-carefully as if Atsumu thinks  _ Kiyoomi’s hands  _ are breakable and not his long, slim, seemingly delicate ones.

Hands which seem confident when Atsumu raises his hand before a serve, commanding silence and Kiyoomi just knows he’s going to give them all an untouched service ace. Hands which are firm but gentle when they pat his teammates on the back, a smile and a ‘nice receive’ or ‘nice kill’ escaping Atsumu’s smiling lips; or a ‘don’t mind’ when someone misses or firm, unbreakable and unrelenting when he sides up against others as a blocker, a solid wall. Hands which seem reliable when Atsumu extends them to Kiyoomi -to anyone- when they fall; ever-present to pull Kiyoomi back up on his feet.

Hands which squeeze Kiyoomi's own before heading out into the arena before a match as they say _it'll be okay, we'll be fine._ Hands which fist bump Kiyoomi's own when they win a match, just a gentle nudge because Atsumu is mindful of how Kiyoomi doesn't like to touch him when he's sweaty due to a match. Hands which take Kiyoomi's into his own on the bus ride home should they lose a match and squeeze them which say you did well, _it'll be okay. We'll get them the next time._

Atsumu’s hands have a personality of their own. They do with the way Atsumu’s mood is reflected in how they seem to change their moods; gentle on some days and substantial, secure and solid on others.

Atsumu’s hands defy whatever logic there exists because although his hands are only a centimetre larger than Kiyoomi's own, they manage to make Kiyoomi’s look  _ so  _ small in them when they’re not. Atsumu’s hands fitting in between Kiyoomi’s thicker ones like they are meant to always be there, held tightly into Kiyoomi’s own, belonging between the gaps of Kiyoomi’s fingers like puzzle pieces which can never be lost and can be intertwined, locked at any time either of them wishes to complete the picture.

When the same hands held Kiyoomi’s own after their first date, pinkies entwined shyly at first before Kiyoomi swallowed and moved to pull Atsumu's hands in his own; Atsumu's averted, blushing face as he handed him a bouquet for their one month anniversary, Atsumu’s hands holding on to the flowers like a lifeline, thrusting the bouquet in Kiyoomi's direction with a _"just take it and don't say anything"._

Kiyoomi loves it when the same hands tend to him. Gentle fingers prodding into his skull, caressing Kiyoomi’s hair when Kiyoomi lays down on the couch with his head in Atsumu’s lap, eyes shut as he listens to Atsumu chatters away or when they wash and cleanse Kiyoomi's hair for him. Fingers which rove over the wrinkles born after the day’s exhaustion on Kiyoomi’s head until the wrinkles disappear and so does Kiyoomi’s fatigue. 

Hands which rejuvenate, revive him, bringing life into Kiyoomi and which hold Kiyoomi’s whole life into them.

Atsumu's hands which smell like green tea and cherry blossoms, his favourite hand creams and for all of Atsumu's teasings about Kiyoomi spending 30 seconds washing his hands methodically, Atsumu himself takes cares of his hands just in the same way, making sure to keep them moisturised, nails cut and clean and pretty; Kiyoomi always watches the movements of Atsumu's fingers against the back of his hands as the rub the hand cream with tender fingertips until the cream disappears and Atsumu's hands smell like spring, the way Atsumu's hands prod lightly into the curve of his palm in slow circles, the movement mesmerising. 

Atsumu’s hands which are golden in summers, tasting like the popsicles melted onto them, sticky but not sticky enough for Kiyoomi to pull his hand away from Atsumu’s because Atsumu’s hands defy logic and manage to turn cool into the insufferable heatwave, never sweating and a respite for Kiyoomi who is glad because no matter what season, he never has to let them go. 

Hands which smelling an earthy, or a strong wave of petrichor when it rains, moist but not clammy. 

When the said hands manage to look itty-bitty when autumn begins and Atsumu starts wearing long sleeves shirts which come till his wrists on their way to practise. And in winters when the sleeves become longer yet, resting on his knuckles, sometimes past them with only fingertips peeking out from underneath the fabrics and Atsumu has sweater paws and Kiyoomi’s heart melts even in the harsh, biting winters snows.

And _thank God_ that Atsumu’s hands defy logic because they’re a furnace in winters. Some adaptive ability in them to be cool during summers and warm in winters which thaw Kiyoomi’s frigid ones because  _ Kiyoomi’s  _ hands don’t defy logic as they conform to the expectations of turning chilly in the chillier Osaka winters. 

Kiyoomi runs across the street, boots crunching in the snow on the pavement, before he comes to a standstill in front of his boyfriend, immediately latching onto Atsumu’s hands and seeking warmth.

“Your hands are cold!” Atsumu complains, topping his whine with a nose scrunch, hand spasming under Kiyoomi's cold ones. 

“And yours are warm,” Kiyoomi states matter-of-factly.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “I hate it when you do this,” he mutters, still complaining but brings Kiyoomi’s hands together between his nevertheless, rubbing them to share warmth. Kiyoomi keeps his eye-roll in check. Because no matter how many times (and those times are countless) Kiyoomi runs to him with his hands cold and thrusts them between Atsumu's to seek warmth, no matter how many times Atsumu protests about Kiyoomi's chilly hands giving him an unwarranted shock, Atsumu always,  _ always  _ makes sure Kiyoomi's hands remain warm. 

"I'm not going to do this anymore every time you run to me like this," Atsumu warns. He pulls Kiyoomi a step closer until they're standing less than a foot apart, both of Kiyoomi's hands in both of Atsumu's, stuffed inside the pocket of Atsumu's coat.

"Really?" Kiyoomi questions.

"Really,” Atsumu confirms, smirking. Pouting. “You can’t keep taking advantage of your boyfriend like this, Omi-kun. My hands get cold too.”

"Liar," Kiyoomi deadpans. Because it is a lie. Kiyoomi knows it all too well. 

Atsumu throws his head back, his laughter like bells chiming in the wind.

The velvet box in the pocket of Kiyoomi's coat feels heavier than ever. 

Atsumu pulls him even closer, interlacing their fingers in his pockets like he's making sure Kiyoomi won't run away.

Not that Kiyoomi plans to, ever. 

The oncoming snowflakes drift and rest in Atsumu’s eyelashes, the tips of his fringes, on his cheeks till they melt under his warmth.

Kiyoomi watches, mesmerized, feeling a lump in his throat at the sight of his boyfriend and the sound of his laughter.

Kiyoomi twists his hands inside the coat pocket until and wraps his hands around Atsumu’s and pulls them out of the pocket, now tepid enough to be out in the cold again and even if they aren't, Kiyoomi simply doesn't care. Atsumu's hands go slack around his as he opens his mouth to say something but Kiyoomi doesn’t let him say whatever Atsumu is about to say. 

"I love you," Kiyoomi blurts out.

Atsumu watches him silently for a beat, then smiles, amused, eyes bright. "Well, I'd be surprised if you didn't after being together for eight years, Omi-kun." 

Kiyoomi doesn't even have it in him to retort with a sarcastic comeback. 

"I love you," Kiyoomi mumbles, squeezing Atsumu's hands as he leans forward to press a light kiss to Atsumu's lips.

Atsumu smiles against Kiyoomi's own, extracting his hands to cup Kiyoomi's cheeks to deepen their kiss, warm hands on warmer cheeks in the warmest moment Kiyoomi has ever experienced. 

Kiyoomi pulls back first, breathing out heavy, dense puffs of smoke from his lips as he removes Atsumu's hands from around his cheeks and holds them, pressing soft, peppery light kisses against each fingertip, each knuckle turn by turn, lingering a moment longer on the knuckle next to the pinky finger of the left hand. 

"I love you so much," Kiyoomi whispers, repeating the process all over again with the other hand, enunciating each word with another kiss.

Atsumu looks a lot more amused and the shyest Kiyoomi has ever seen. "That's a lot of love for me to handle at one time, Kiyoomi," he sounds slightly exasperated. "What's gotten into you?"

Kiyoomi looks up at him. At the bright eyes reflecting the night sky, the moon and the stars, eyes which stare back at him as they hold an endless ocean of love. At the upturned corners of Atsumu's mouth which Kiyoomi never fails to kiss before leaving the house and before every match for good luck.

Kiyoomi may love Atsumu's hands the most but never as much as he loves the whole of Atsumu. And Kiyoomi loves Atsumu always a lot more than his words can describe and always a little less than what he can imagine where the horizons of their love keep stretching until.

One hand leaves Atsumu's only for a few seconds as Kiyoomi reaches into the inside of his coat and prods open the small, velvet box and pulls the ring out. He holds Atsumu's hands in his, watching the moonlight and the snow work its magic upon them and turn albino silver, his own hands shaking. 

A moment later, Kiyoomi slides up the simple golden band on the empty finger, not daring to look up. 

Kiyoomi's heart is the nest for a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Atsumu pulls his hand out of Kiyoomi's wordlessly and Kiyoomi finally looks up, eyes magnetically attracted to the ring and the ring's owner.

Atsumu holds his hand high up in the air between them, studying the ring with an unreadable expression and Kiyoomi would be worried about the expression if not for the movement of Atsumu's throat as it constricts, a lump in his throat just as Kiyoomi's. 

If Kiyoomi is the silent one in the relationship, Atsumu is the quiet one. The one who says his emotions through the way his eyes shine or dull, in the way his lips turn into a smile or a smirk or a frown. It's how they fell in love and continue to love each other, without words and hearts on their sleeves. Hearts in their hands, handing it to the other as if to say  _ take it, take it all, take all of me. _

_I_ _t's alright. I'm not worried. I love you._ __

The neon pink, violet, blue and purple from the street shops and signs around them overshadow the golden of the ring till it's a prettier metallic ombre shade.

Atsumu's eyes, at last, leave the ring and rest upon him. "Kind of unfair that I have a ring which practically screams I'm a taken man while you're roaming around with none on your finger like you're a free real estate for anyone, Omi-kun, this is not fair." 

Kiyoomi can't help it as he breaks into a grin, soft and shy, and shakes his head fondly as Atsumu's laughter weaves into the night, all silky and gossamer and soft-spun threads of their fates. 

He purses his lips, watching Atsumu, feeling overwhelmed the way Atsumu keeps eyeing the ring, lips parted open, marvelling at it with an unconscious smile on his face.

"You are free to not wear it until you have my ring ready," Kiyoomi says, taking Atsumu's hand in his again, playing with the ring cool under his touch.

Atsumu looks away from the ring, for the first time, and meets his gaze. He arches an eyebrow. "Would you  _ really  _ want that?" 

Kiyoomi looks down at his hands again. Hands which sport a ring Atsumu will never take off at the end of the day, hands which will put a ring on Kiyoomi's, hands which Kiyoomi will hold as they walk up to the aisle and walk down and away from it. 

Kiyoomi sighs, content, and lifts Atsumu's hand again to press a firm kiss against the ring, cool metal and Atsumu's warmth under his mouth. He glances up and smiles, keeping the newfound truth to himself. "No," he admits. 

Atsumu smirks. "Thought so," he murmurs as he pulls Kiyoomi up again to kiss him properly, a promise in it.

When they're walking home at midnight in the slow, with Atsumiuswinging their hands between them, and as Atsumu promises to buy him an identical ring as soon as possible so that the world knows that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a taken man too, Kiyoomi muses upon his newfound realisation from some time ago.

  
  


Because the truth is that, Sakusa Kiyoomi might love Atsumu's hands, their, size, shape and touch in all seasons, on all days, in all moods, in all aspects all the time, but Atsumu's hands with their wedding ring upon it might be his favourite look on them.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This piece is actually a rework of another fic just so I could have Haikyuu fics to submit for zine applications but I enjoyed reworking them and finding exact pairings for the fics in the Haikyuu universe.
> 
> One of these days, I would absolutely love to write an original SakuAtsu fic. Very ardently. PLEASE.
> 
> If you have any prompts for one-shots, feel free to drop them in the comments! 
> 
> Come say hi to me here, I don't bite:
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/haikyubts) (My main Twitter!)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kurootetsuwu) (My anitwit Twitter!)
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/haikyubts)
> 
> ___
> 
> If any of you are in a BTS fandom and want to read the original, find the original work here:
> 
> [Holding Hands, Holding Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20636819)


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